


Blush

by oakwoodblue



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Canon Compliant, Consensual Sex, Established Relationship, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Spanking, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, no beta we die like renfri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:01:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26041597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oakwoodblue/pseuds/oakwoodblue
Summary: 'Perhaps it’s the low lamplight of the street that inspires him; he is fixated on the warm light and how it plays off Jaskier’s flushed skin.He’s not sure how to convey all his wants, all his desires; how he wants to see Jaskier flushed and red from his hand and lips and teeth. How he wants to leave marks on him that the bard will have to hide for days. Jaskier, to his credit, seems to understand – seems to always understand what Geralt wants even when he doesn’t know himself – and leans forward to place his hands on the edge of the bed. '---Geralt and Jaskier engage in some not-so-light spanking and it's all quite wonderful.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 292





	Blush

**Author's Note:**

> I hope the tags caught everything, but this is 100% consensual spanking scene that is perhaps not as negotiated as it could have been but it's all consensual and there's lots of aftercare.

Perhaps it’s the low lamplight of the street that inspires him; he is fixated on the warm light and how it plays off Jaskier’s flushed skin. Perhaps it is the cold night and the drink – for they are both quite drunk – that make Geraly stop the bard in a darkened corner of Beauclair and kiss him. Jaskier leans into the kiss, and into him, and Geralt in turn, leans against a wall for support as the drink and the feel of Jaskier’s mouth make his head spin.

It is not his best kiss, not by far. He’s drunk and sloppy and accidentally brushes his teeth against Jaskier’s lip. The action makes Jaskier jolt a little, and then his mouth becomes hungrier. Geralt leans into the accident and bites down. Not hard, but he captures Jaskier’s bottom lip between his and tugs. Jaskier pulls away, a little stunned, and Geralt’s gaze falls to his bottom lip, red and puffy. Without thinking, he leans forward and kisses Jaskier roughly and revels in the guttural moan he elicits.

‘The room is on the next street,’ Jaskier gasps into his mouth.

Geralt allows himself to be tugged back onto the street. It’s been raining on-and-off all day and the cobblestone streets are still slick with it, reflecting the oil lamps that sit on every corner. The air smells fresher too; the rain has washed away the lingering smell of urine and horse shit and stale beer that flows through the cracks of the stone, leaving something muddy and earthen in its wake. It reminds him of nights spent on the road. Jaskier leans into him, as if knowing, and the action makes him hurry to the next street.

Their room is in a lodging house called The Pale Duck; it’s a small establishment and Jaskier has secured the semi-detached cottage towards the back of the lot as the guest of honour for the bardic tournament. It’s private enough, which is all Geralt cares about.

Jaskier fumbles with the keys to the cottage and laughs a little when he can’t find the right key but finally manages to shoulder the door open. The Innkeep has attended to their room; a small fire burns in the hearth, just enough to cast a warm glow. There’s a small pitcher of water on the table and Jaskier saunters towards it, pouring it into a large glass and taking a mouthful as he undoes the top buttons of his doublet. Geralt is transfixed. The warm light makes Jaskier’s eyes glimmer and the smooth skin of his shoulders glows as he slips off his lilac doublet. He finishes sculling the water with a loud, wet gasp and Geralt notices how wet and red his lips are, even in the dull light of the room. Then, without a word, Jaskier folds his doublet on the chair and sauntering over to the bed.

Jaskier casts a glance over his shoulder, eyes darkened and hungry. Sensing the game, Jaskier fingers the edge of his chemise before disregarding it and leaning down to unbuckle his boots, his pert ass on show.

‘Jaskier,’ Geralt growls and grabs at the bard’s hips from behind.

‘Not in the mood for a tease, then,’ Jaskier says but it’s a light comment. He moves to stand up, but Geralt keeps his hand on his lower back.

‘Stay.’

‘Geralt?’ the tone is questioning, but not nervous.

‘The word, Jas.’

He hears Jaskier swallow. ‘Um, Posada.’

Geralt rubs a hand over Jaskier’s ass and feels the smoothness of the strong muscle. He tries his luck and gives Jaskier’s rear a quick smack, only to feel the bard jolt forward in surprise.

‘Geralt…’

Jaskier’s arousal is heavy in the air. ‘You want this?’

He’s not sure how to convey all his wants, all his desires; how he wants to see Jaskier flushed and red from his hand and lips and teeth. How he wants to leave marks on him that the bard will have to hide for days. Jaskier, to his credit, seems to understand – seems to always understand what Geralt wants even when he doesn’t know himself – and leans forward to place his hands on the edge of the bed. He has always been an adventurous and generous lover, but Geralt has not been on the receiving side of that affection until recently.

Jaskier looks over his shoulder and something inside Geralt twists at the way his blue eyes have darkened.

‘Make me feel it.’

He smooths his hand over the swell of Jaskier’s ass once, twice, more before bringing his hand down. Jaskier gasps and pitches forward on the bed.

‘Fuck.’

Geralt slaps him again, a little harder, then twice in quick succession. Jaskier groans and falls to his elbows, face pressed against the plush bedspread.

Geralt revels in the quivering of Jaskier’s thighs as he smooths his palms forward find the ties of his breeches. He makes quick work of the ties, freeing the bard’s hardness and exposing his pert ass to the warm night air. The pale skin is unblemished and Geralt is overcome with the desire to see it marred, red and wanting. He smacks Jaskier again, a little lighter now that there’s not a fabric barrier between them, and the bard cries out.

‘Fuck, Geralt, I,’ Jaskier gasps, and for a moment, Geralt wonders if he’ll tell him to stop. ‘I’ve been so bad.’

He takes a handful of Jaskier’s ass cheek and squeezes. ‘What have you done?’

Obviously, Jaskier hadn’t intended on _specifying_ why he’d been so bad, Geralt reflects because the bard fumbles for a response and Geralt smacks him again.

‘Answer me,’ he demands none-too-gently.

‘I’m a brat,’ Jaskier gasps. ‘Never listen to you. Touched… touched all your things, Geralt. _Fuck_.’

Geralt takes the soft flesh of his ass and massages the cheek again. ‘And for that, you think you should be punished?’

‘Yes,’ Jaskier groans.

‘You want to be good?’

‘Yes, so good for you. Please. Need to be good.’

He smooths his thumb over the small of Jaskier’s back. ‘You’ll say your word when it gets too much.’

‘Yes, yes,’ Jaskier whimpers and presses back against his palm. Geralt growls lowly and the action stops.

‘Jaskier.’

‘I promise I’ll be good. I’ll tell you,’ and then he adds, ‘I trust you.’

Perhaps it’s the way Jaskier looks up at him from over his shoulder, face half-buried in the sheets or the implication that Jaskier trusts Geralt – who’s strength could break his lower back if he’s not careful – so deeply; or perhaps it’s both, fuelled with the desire of seeing Jaskier’s pale flesh sing, but Geralt slaps him with the flatness of his palm, and then again, on the other cheek. Jaskier whimpers each time. Pink blooms on the paleness of Jaskier’s ass and Geralt gets lost in it, dedicated to his task like it’s his profession. Jaskier writhes and whimpers on the bed in front of him, fingers twisting in the sheets as he wetly cries out his pleasure after each slap.

Geralt’s breeches quickly become too tight, and briefly, he considers pulling the belt from his pants and putting it to better use, but there’s something about the feel of Jaskier’s flesh under his palm, how his touch brings Jaskier to the precipice between pleasure and pain. His skin is hot and flushed red in the firelight. He slaps him again and again, moving the slaps around Jaskier’s cheeks to try not to cause bruising; though he suspects there will be marks come the morning. Jaskier had said he wanted to _feel_ it.

He’s about to slap Jaskier again when he sees his thighs visibly tremble.

‘Jaskier?’

The other whimpers in reply.

‘Don’t come.’

A cry of protest and Geralt slaps him again. He had said he wanted to be punished, after all–

‘Do not defy me,’ he growls.

‘I won’t,’ Jaskier babbles mindlessly into the bedspread. A shudder creeps up his spine and Geralt almost loses his resolve then and there. He’s itching to touch Jaskier, to sink his teeth into the flesh of his shoulder and bury himself deep.

‘How much more can you take? Ten more?’ Geralt says.

Jaskier nods helplessly.

‘Count for me.’

‘Geralt,’ he protests weakly but then Geralt slaps him again, harder than before, and Jaskier cries out with a mix of surprise and pain.

‘Count,’ he demands.

‘One!’

Geralt slaps him again, a little softer this time, keeping his fingers closed.

‘Two.’

The next three come in rapid succession, and then he spends a moment massaging his abused ass cheeks, letting Jaskier recover. The skin is hot in his hands and the flush of his flesh is creeping up the planes of his back, and around his upper shoulders.

‘Five more, are you ready?’ Geralt asks.

‘Yes.’

‘You’re being so good for me,’ Geralt rumbles in appreciation, both to soothe Jaskier and to let him know this is almost over. He pinches the soft skin of Jaskier’s behind gently. He has been so very good. ‘Then I’m going to flip you over and fuck you.’

‘Geralt,’ Jaskier whimpers, but the word morphs into a cry as Geralt slaps him twice again. ‘Six, seven.’

Another slap.

‘Eight.’

Another.

‘Nine.’

‘Last one. You’re doing well.’ Geralt slaps him one final time and Jaskier whimpers.

‘Ten.’

Jaskier’s knees give way almost immediately and his hips fall forward onto the bed. His pert ass is slapped raw and for a moment, Geralt appreciates the view, running his thumb over the swollen flesh. Leaning over, he grabs the bottle of slick and pours it carefully into the palm of his hand.

‘Stay like this while I prepare you,’ Geralt tells him. He hears Jaskier breathe a sigh of relief at the direction.

Gently, Geralt slips a finger in. Jaskier takes him well. He tells him so and the other only groans in approval.

He takes his time, pleasuring his lover in short bursts before slowing back down. By the time he is done, several minutes have passed and the light from the fire has dimmed. Jaskier is a blissed-out malleable bundle of limbs as he turns him over on the bed. He’s only just settled Jaskier on his back, legs braced against his shoulders when Jaskier cries out and flinches away.

‘It’s too much, please Geralt,’ Jaskier gasps. Geralt can hear true pain in his voice as the fabric of the bedspread chafes against his reddened skin. ‘Another way, please.’

Geralt nods and climbs onto the bed, feeling it sink beneath his knees. He pulls Jaskier against his chest and presses his mouth against the shell of his ear, the twinge of his jawline until Jaskier turns and their mouths meet in wet, frenzied kisses. There’s a real worry, twisting deep in his gut, that he has gone too far tonight; but then Jaskier is pressing back against him and gasping against his mouth.

‘Don’t come while I fuck you,’ Geralt says as he grasps Jaskier’s hips. He feels Jaskier’s hair reach up to take fistfuls of his hair. ‘Be good.’

‘I’ll be good,’ Jaskier promises but his cock is straining. Geralt doubts he’ll last.

The angle is a little awkward to slip in, but he manages it, inching in slowly as Jaskier gasps and tenses in his arms. He rumbles gently, nosing at the hinge of Jaskier’s jaw, soothing him as he bottoms out.

‘Fuck,’ Jaskier garbles. His hips roll minutely as he adjusts to the feeling of being so full. Geralt begins to meet the movements, rolling to meet Jaskier’s thrusts until they’re moving together. The hand in his hair tightens as Geralt begins to pant against Jaskier’s skin, breath against his ear.

‘So good,’ Geralt groans as he guides Jaskier’s hips to come down harder, faster. ‘Fuck, Jaskier.’

He’d planned on pushing Jaskier down onto the pillows and fucking him with his pert red ass in the air and his head pushed down against the bed, but now that he’s in his arms, writhing and moaning, he can’t fathom letting him go. Geralt wants them to finish, like this, together.

When he feels his peak approaching, he tugs at Jaskier hair to get his attention. ‘Come for me.’

‘What-,’ Jaskier struggles as Geralt’s hand finds his leaking cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts. ‘Ngh, Geralt, Geralt, stop, I’m gonna-’

‘Come.’

He comes with a sob and a shiver, jerking in Geralt’s arms as he fucks him through it and finds his pleasure soon after. He holds Jaskier’s limp body against him, rolling his hips to chase the aftershocks. Jaskier whimpers, caught between pain and pleasure and the comedown of the entire scene, fingers digging into the flesh of Geralt’s arms.

Gently, Geralt leans over and grasps the pail of water on the nightstand. The cloth is cold against Jaskier’s stomach as he wipes away the mess, pressing kisses against Jaskier’s neck and shoulder in a silent apology. When he’s satisfied Jaskier’s clean enough, he lowers him to lie on his stomach before swinging his legs off the bed.

‘Geralt,’ Jaskier murmurs as Geralt walks away.

‘A moment, Jas,’ he says as he rifles through his pack.

Finding the jars he’s looking for, he pours a little water into the kettle over the fire.When it’s steaming, he transfers it to a small ceramic tea mug and adds a dollop of honey. Jaskier rises to his elbows as Geralt hands him the mug.

‘Drink it.’ At Jaskier’s sceptical look, Geralt elaborates. ‘It's got honey in it. For your voice.’

‘ _Oh_ ,’ he murmurs and takes a sip. ‘Thank you.’

Geralt climbs back on the bed and settles himself on Jaskier’s thighs. Opening the jar of salve, he swipes a finger through before recorking it and settling it beside him in the sheets. He allows the ointment to warm on his fingers before gently pressing it to the flesh of Jaskier’s ass. The bard gasps below him, and shifts uncomfortably as Geralt begins to massage. His ass is red and will possibly bruise in the morning, but the salve should help with the pain. He massages longer than he needs, moving up to soothe Jaskier’s hips and lower back, before the bard protests.

‘Geralt,’ he hums. The mug is empty beside him and Geralt places it on the bedside table before curling against Jaskier. ‘Geralt, my love, so good to me. Come here.’

Geralt traces the tips of his fingers down the curve of Jaskier’s spine. ‘Are you all right?’

Jaskier nods, sleepy and mellow from a good fuck and massage. ‘You took good care of me. It was wonderful.'

'You'll feel it tomorrow.'

Jaskier laughs a little. 'I certainly hope so.'

The twist of fear that he’s gone too far still twists in Geralt’s stomach, but then Jaskier snuggles into his side and he only smells of sex and warmth and contentment. He smooths his hand down Jaskier’s spine and revels as the bard leans forward, and they kiss, slow and easy for a long while until Jaskier’s mouth falls for his in a tired smile. The fire pops behind them, crackling, as Jaskier slides closer still. Geralt lets him curl against him, runs his hand through Jaskier’s sweaty curls and feels sleep take him quickly.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you like!


End file.
